Childish Misunderstandings
by Europe28
Summary: Biting his lip England forced himself not to shout back. He had to be the better person, reacting would just give France what he was looking for.  But his words were really hurting today. FrUk with slight UsCan Oneshot


"You truly are hateful Angleterre, no wonder no one likes you" France shrugged, glaring across the conference hall at the slightly smaller nation that he'd been arguing with for the last fifteen minuets.

England shut his mouth tightly, fighting the urge to cry in front of all the other nations.

"Shut up Frog!" He snapped, tugging at his watch uncomfortably; he was suddenly aware that all the eyes in the room were on him and France. He sat down quickly, clenching his fists under the table.

How dare that bastard say such a thing to him! He was the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, the ex-ruler of a third of the world.

Germany was going on about something to do with GDPs that honestly nobody was paying much attention to.

America was at the other side of the large conference table telling any one that would listen that everything will be fine if they build a huge hero who can defend them from inflation.

England could hear France talking with his idiot friends; clearly not paying attention to either America or Germany.

"I'm telling you it's true!" France was whispering, glaring at Prussia and Spain; "I've slept with everyone in this room!"

Spain sniggered, "you mean, except him?"

England knew the Spanish bastard was indicating him.

Well it was true, and he didn't consider it anything to be ashamed of; he prided himself on being the only one who'd never slept with the Frog.

"Come on, I could if I wanted to, but I mean who'd want to? It's no wonder he's still a virgin with those eyebrows" the Frenchman dismissed.

Biting his lip England forced himself not to shout back. He had to be the better person, reacting would just give France what he was looking for.

But his words were really hurting, had he done something particularly nasty to the French nation today?

In the morning he'd spilt his tea 'accidentally' over France's new shirt, in the meeting they'd argued as usual, and during lunch he hadn't even seen France. He'd had a few things he needed to sort with America before going to lunch; the stupid American still hadn't gotten up the guts to ask Canada out.

"_I just want to go to McDonald's with him" America whimpered, "But he's always hanging around with that commy Bastard Cuba!"_

_England glanced at his watch, he had been hoping to catch up with France by now to challenge him on his opinion on Napoleon, but the American clearly wasn't going to let him go until he had a solution._

"_Can't you just ask him?" The Brit sighed. He glanced up at the door; had he just heard it creak?_

"_But I can't bare it any more Iggy!" America howled; he fell down on the floor clutching England's hand in the most childish manor, "please, you're the only one that can help me!"_

"_Look I'll think about it okay," England forced the younger nation to his feet, dusting off his jacket. America was completely incompetent when it came to keeping his clothes tidy. _

"_Thank you!" America gave a whoop of joy, pulling the Brit into a tight hug, "tell me as soon as you know what to do. I've never been so in love." With that America scurried out of the room, giving small leaps as he went._

_England smiled lightly, shaking his head. America was like a little brother to him; he'd known the American had developed a crush on Canada before America probably even knew himself._

_When he headed out into the foyer he saw that France had indeed gone. That impatient Wine Bastard seemed to need a whole hour to fill his stomach; but England had been sure that France had been as eager as him to continue the conversation. It was one of their favourite arguments._

_It was France returned after lunch that he'd been in a nasty mood towards England (Even more so than usual)._

After he didn't react England thought France would stop trying to wind him up. But the French nation just continued; pointing out all of England's flaws in the poorest discrete manor England had ever seen.

Even Spain was looking a little awkward by now; but Prussia was still cackling; completely innocent of how angry and upset England was becoming.

He'd looked forward to this meeting.

It was the first one in England for quite some time, and he'd been able to chose the foyer and the hotel for the visiting nations. It was always an honour for a nation to host the world summit. But now he was hating every minuet of it.

"Francis, I think you're going a bit too far..." Spain suggested, giving France an urgent tug on his shirt sleeve; he lowered his voice, but England could still hear it, "I think you're upsetting him..."

"Like I care" France shook his friend off, shooting England a vicious glare.

England scrambled for his watch again; how much longer did he need to put up with this. Surely the meeting had to be over soon.

His watch read 21:25 they only had five minuets left.

Ludwig was passing around the usual files for them to take back to their hotel rooms to look at for the meeting tommorow.

The moment everyone else started to get up England gathered up his documents and fled from the room. He couldn't let any of the others see him cry.

As soon as he was certain he was far enough away from the conference building England hugged the documents to his chest and let a few tears drop from his eyes to the floor.

The others would probably catch taxis back to the hotel so there wasn't any chance of anyone discovering him in this moment of weakness.

Did France really believe all those things he'd said about England being hateful and hideous to look at?

Sniffing, England ran a painful hand over his thick eyebrows; why did he have to look like this. Of course he wasn't attractive, who was he kidding...

He wasn't muscular like Spain and Germany.

He wasn't tall like Russia.

He wasn't cute and playful like Italy.

He wasn't quiet like Canada, or boisterous like America.

He wasn't consenting like Prussia.

He could think of so many reasons why France had slept with the others and not him. It wasn't that England had refused him, it was just that he'd never made a move on him... Not that he'd sleep with him even if he did show any interest!

Everything seemed too quiet, although this was practically the centre of London. England couldn't help but feel like someone was watching him.

Spinning round he spotted France standing a little way off looking at him with an expression England couldn't read.

"Arthur..." The Frenchman stepped forwards; but using England's name only made the tears prick at his eyes again.

"Leave me alone" Arthur muttered, flinching as Francis took a step closer to him,

"I just want to ask you..."

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" Arthur shouted, hurling the documents in his arms at the surprised French nation, before turning tail and running in the direction of the hotel. He couldn't bare looking at Francis any more.

For some reason his chest was tight and painful; his heart beating so quickly he was sure it would fly out.

He got to the hotel just as America was getting out of a taxi with Canada behind him. Arthur didn't even stop to give him a prompting look; he just hurried into the hotel and into his room that he locked behind him.

He knew it was childish but he threw himself down on his bed hugging his pillow to his chest, crying softly into the material.

Not only did Francis hate him now, he'd also lost the documents he was meant to be looking over; now everyone was going to get angry at him tommorow.

* * *

><p>"What's the matter with him?" America watched England rush past him into the hotel, his eyes were red and puffy. Had he been crying?<p>

"I think that fight he and France had upset him" Canada suggested quietly, nodding over America's shoulder at an out of breath Frenchman that had obviously just come running after the Brit.

"Hey, Frenchie what did you say to him!" America demanded. He hardly had time to think of a witty reply to whatever France was going to tell him, when the French nation seized him by the front of his shirt, shoving him against the outside wall of the hotel.

"France what are you doing!" Canada gave a small squeak, trying to pull the Frenchman off his friend.

France ignored him, shrugging off any attempts he made to pull France away from the American.

"So how long has this been going on!" France demanded, almost spitting in America's face, "you'd better tell me now or I'll hit it out of you!"

America spluttered, "What are you talking about!"

"I heard you two in the conference room at lunch today! So how long have you been interested in him!"

America paled. Had France heard that? But why would he care about America liking Canada? Unless of course he liked the Canadian as well!

"I'll have you know I've loved him for ages, much longer than I'm sure you have!" The American snapped, "you can't have him!"

"I've loved him since before you were even born Brat!" France hissed.

This caused some confusion on the receiving end.

"What? How's that possible? He's younger than me," America finally managed to shove France away from him.

"Younger than you? Did you hit your head or something! He raised you, how could he be younger than you!"

There was a moment silence, then America burst out laughing. "You're such an idiot Francis, I was asking him advice about someone else!"

"What?" Francis felt himself heat up with embarrassment, "who were you talking about?"

"I wanted him to give me advice on how to ask... someone out, he was going to think about it and give me an answer later."

Francis felt like a complete idiot. He'd been a bastard to Arthur all afternoon, because he was jealous. He'd thought he'd overheard America asking him out over lunch.

Glancing over his shoulder at the worried looking Canada, he realised it was obvious who America was really in love with.

"You'd better go an apologise to him" Canada murmured, "he looked really upset when he ran past a few minuets ago."

Francis slapped his forehead. Dam. Now Arthur would absolutely hate him.

* * *

><p>"Arthur?"<p>

Arthur jumped when he heard Francis' voice and a knock at the door. He gave a small hiss in pain as he caught his skin with the razor by accident.

"Go away!" He snapped, catching his skin again in frustration.

Why did they just keep growing back!

He'd shave them off, and they'd just grow back looking as thick as usual.

"Let me explain," Francis was still standing outside the door.

"Don't worry I get it!" The Brit snapped, almost beside himself with tears; his hand was now shaking so much that he was cutting everywhere around his eyes. He didn't even care how much it hurt. "You hate me!"

There was a short pause.

"Of course I don't hate you Arthur..." Francis' voice was quiet, he sounded guilty. His tone made Arthur stop what he was doing for a moment.

"But you think I'm ugly!" The Brit shot back, bringing the razor back to his eyebrows, giving a yelp as he almost caught his eyelid.

"Arthur what are you doing in there!" Francis pulled at the door handle trying to force his way in.

With a sudden surge of panic, Arthur threw the bloody blade into the sink, running the tap to try and get rid of all the blood before Francis managed to get in.

The panic was making it difficult for him to call on his magic to fix up his cuts.

The pulling on the door stopped, and Arthur heard a faint click. Francis had managed to pick the lock with something.

Feeling dizzy Arthur steadied himself against the wall.

"I told you to leave me alone..." He tried pathetically to hold the bathroom door shut but Francis forced his way in easily.

The Frenchman's eyes travelled first to the blood in the sink that Arthur had been unable to wash away; then onto the Brit's face where around his speedily regrowing eyebrows were hundreds of little cuts, some were still bleeding freely.

"What have you done to yourself cher...?" Francis felt the pain in his voice. He took a step towards Arthur. Wasn't the Englishman usually good at healing his injuries himself.

"D-Don't call me that" Arthur sniffed, rubbing at his eyes, succeeding in opening up the few cuts that had managed to scab over.

When Francis wrapped his arms around him, Arthur didn't protest; crying into his chest, letting Francis support him as he sank to the floor in despair.

"Why do you hate me so much?" Arthur sobbed.

"I was being childish," Francis lifted Arthur in his arms, carrying him bridal style back to his bedroom, sitting him down on the bed.

"Childish?"

"I..." Francis paused, feeling embarrassed all over again, "I thought I overheard America telling you he loved you over lunch..."

Arthur stared at him mouth open.

"H-He was asking me about Canada Francis, Canada!" Shaking his head, Arthur could barely believe it. But he'd somehow found the strength in his magic to begin healing his cuts.

"I know that now..." Francis sighed, "I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions..."

"Why would it bother you anyway?" Arthur shrugged, glancing at the Frenchman sitting next to him. "You don't like Canada do you?"

"Of course not!" Why was everyone suddenly jumping to that conclusion today?

"Then..." Arthur blushed, turning away quickly, "...Why were you angry?" His heart rate was increasing again; it was so loud he was sure that Francis could hear it.

Francis touched the side of Arthur's face gently, turning him so they were facing each other.

"I was jealous" he admitted,

"So you do like Canada?"

Francis stared at him; was Arthur really this dense! "I already told you I don't like Canada like that."

"America?" Arthur sounded like he was straining over names.

Francis let out a sound of aggravation standing up and storming towards the door. Even Arthur couldn't be this oblivious, he must be trying to send him the message to not say anything.

"Wait!" Arthur's voice sounded desperate.

Francis turned. He felt his own face blush at the sight of Arthur now his cuts had almost healed. His face was flushed a delicate pink, while he was shuffling uncomfortably where he sat on the bed.

Arthur got to his feet, stepping slowly towards him.

He really did have a very feminine figure Francis had to admit; a thin curvy waist, and small hands that now clenched onto Francis' sleeve, as if he were afraid the Frenchman would leave if he didn't.

"What sort of things do you look for in a partner?" The Brit whispered, unable to meet Francis' inquiring gaze.

"What I look for in a partner..." Francis thought a while, reaching out to touch Arthur's face again. "Cute I suppose, I prefer those that are smaller than me, blond of course is nice; but I'd like someone I could argue with as well..." Francis smiled as Arthur's eyes slowly met his, "...and of course green eyes, and thicker than average eyebrows."

"Are you teasing me?" The Brit whispered, trembling in Francis' arms, "are you just saying this for a one night stand?"

"Of course not!" Francis was almost irritated his confession had been interpreted that way, though he supposed he did have a reputation.

"Y-You l-love..." Arthur trailed off unable to finish the sentence, his whole body seeming to heat up when Francis pulled him closer,

"I love _you_ Arthur" Francis whispered before touching their mouths gently together, just in case the Brit had second thoughts.

But to his surprise Arthur folded his hands into Francis' hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss himself.

For a moment their tongues battled for dominance, then Arthur gave up; simply enjoying the feeling of Francis kissing him.

He gave a small moan when the Frenchman's mouth moved down to his neck, sucking at his pale skin, swirling his tongue around the red mark he was making.

Francis was directing them towards the bed, catching Arthur's mouth with his own again; biting a little on the smaller man's lips, kissing him with all his strength, just to prove how much the other meant to him.

He was struggling a little with Arthur's waistcoat. Why did the Brit insist on wearing these fiddly things?

They fell down on the bed together, still kissing.

Francis leant back, straddling Arthur's hips to examine his work.

Arthur's lips were a deep red from all the kissing; highlighted against his pale skin, along with the hickey on his neck. He could feel the smaller body beneath him panting heavily, already exhausted.

"We don't need to go any further if you don't want to," Francis removed his hands from the waistcoat- that he had just managed to get open.

"No, I want to..." Arthur pulled Francis down to him by his shirt kissing him forcefully, "j-just do it."

Obeying, Francis moved his hand along the buttons of the Brit's shirt; slipping one hand under Arthur's back to sit him up and help him off with his shirt and waistcoat.

He rolled his tongue along one of the aroused nipples, pressing at the other with his thumb and index finger.

Arthur moaned his name softly, arching his back into Francis' touch.

Swirling his tongue around the one in his mouth he gave it a small nip, pinching at the other.

"Ah, Francis~" Arthur moved his hips against Francis' trying to converse his other need.

Guessing what Arthur was trying to tell him, Francis moved down to Arthur's middle, trailing his tongue along the English nation's torso as he went.

He slowly pulled Arthur's trousers and boxers down to reveal his erection.

Glancing back up at the Englishman's face, he found the most adorable blush cross Arthur's features as he tried to hide himself in embarrassment.

Smiling, Francis removed his own shirt, tossing it aside in an effort to make the Brit feel slightly more comfortable.

Gently he prised Arthur's legs apart so he could get at the erection, stroking one finger along the base.

Arthur's aroused pants were making his own need grow harder.

Deciding he'd better finish Arthur quickly, he pressed his thumb down on the tip, sending Arthur into deep gasps and moans; before swirling his tongue around it.

He could already taste the precum.

Moving his mouth skilfully over Arthur's member, he was not surprised when Arthur suddenly grabbed at his hair.

"I-I'm going to..." He murmured, unable to get the words out properly.

Francis kept moving his mouth along the shuddering member.

He caught Arthur's release in his mouth and swallowed it, licking his lips in case any was still left around his mouth.

Feeling his need growing more urgent as he looked down at Arthur's flushed naked body he directed his clean hand towards his mouth, drenching his own fingers in saliva.

He paused only when he heard a small choking noise from under him.

Arthur was crying again, looking nervous; trembling.

"You're not really a virgin are you?" Francis had only been joking when he'd told his friends that. But the Brit was nodding with his eyes squeezed shut.

Francis lifted Arthur onto his lap, kissing his eyelids, his mouth, then eyebrows.

"Don't worry, I won't do anything unless you ask me to" he assured him. "I'm going to put my fingers in now, is that okay?"

He waited until the other man gave a stiff nod.

Arthur jolted in pain when Francis inserted the first finger, tears beginning to leak from his eyes all over again.

Francis hushed him comfortingly, holding him close with his free hand, while inserting the second finger, making a scissoring motion.

"Relax Arthur" he whispered, kissing him softly. He just needed to find the spot he was looking for.

"Francis!~" The Brit let out a sharp moan, telling the Frenchman he'd met his target.

He brushed his fingers against the prostate, enjoying Arthur's moans and shivers.

Finally he added the last digit, making sure their was defiantly enough room; he didn't want this to be painful for the smaller nation.

Retrieving his fingers, Francis was relieved to hear Arthur give a disappointed whimper.

Francis managed to shift his own trousers and boxers down, lifting Arthur carefully so he could position himself in his entrance.

"I'm going to put it in now" Francis warned, lowering Arthur onto his hips, waiting for the English nation to adjust before giving a small thrust.

Arthur moaned loudly as France began to rock his hips. "God Francis~" He groaned, when Francis kissed him. Then he managed to get enough strength together to smirk challengingly, "is that all the country of love's got?"

He was cut-off by a sharp whimper and moan as Francis lowered him onto the bed, thrusting harder and faster.

The Brit clenched his fists over the covers, wailing when his French lover hit his prostate. He didn't know how much he could take. He was hard again, so Francis reached out a hand to begin running over his erection again.

"Je t'aime" Francis moaned, kissing the Brit swiftly, feeling the smaller nation cum in his hand.

He nipped the shell of Arthur's ear, pressing Arthur down harder into the sheets.

With a gasp he released inside the Brit, falling down alongside his lover on the bed.

Giving Arthur a soft kiss, he pulled the blankets around them, holding the other's body close to his.

"Je t'aime" he repeated sleepily,

"I love you too" Arthur murmured, half in his sleep, "...Git" he seemed to add for good measure.

When Arthur awoke the next morning he was still lying in Francis' arms.

He smiled softly, snuggling against the other nations' chest; drifting back into a comfortable sleep. They could always arrive at the meeting late.


End file.
